The Sun Is Setting On My Peace Corps Service

I'm getting so close to the end of my Peace Corps service that when I do a lot of things now, it's the last time that I'm going to do them here in Morocco.  Today I went to the city that's near my town, making the last round-trip journey during my Peace Corps service to that city.

Very early this morning, here in Morocco, we shifted our clocks one hour back, so that we're once again on "old time," as folks here sometimes put it, or in the time zone of GMT (Greenwich Mean Time).  However, not everyone alters their schedule to conform to the time change.  So, just to be safe, I showed up at the bus station as if the time change hadn't occurred.  Sure enough, the bus was there at the bus station as if the time change hadn't happened.  I was glad that I got up an hour early to catch the bus!

When I got to the city, I made my way to a cafe I've frequented there in that city.  I was enjoying the glorious day, the brilliant blue sky and the temperate weather as I savored a "nuss-nuss," (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "half-half"), which, in the context of going to a cafe, is a cup filled half with coffee and half with milk.  Moroccan coffee tends to be pretty strong, so usually I order a nuss-nuss, rather than follow my practice in the US of ordering a cup filled mostly with coffee and a little milk.  Even so, a nuss-nuss often still gives me a minor case of the jitters!

As I was sitting outside, basking in the sunshine and enjoying my hot beverage, I saw a girl, perhaps in her late teens, ride a bicycle around the roundabout, her head covered in a hijab, that is, a headscarf.  Upon seeing her exercise her freedom of movement, I was reminded of the words of a young friend of mine, another Moroccan teenage girl.  While traveling outside Morocco, she had recently met Muslim girls from other nations and realized that she and other Moroccan girls enjoy freedoms which Muslim girls in certain other countries don't have.  I was glad to hear my friend's thoughts, her realizations about her life and the world.  I was happy that her realm of experience had been widened such that she had altered her perceptions of herself, her life, other girls, and the world around her.  Observing the Moroccan girl on the bicycle this morning, I once again began to wonder how I'm going to process my cultural observations from Morocco once I'm back in the US and have the changed perspective of being back in the states.

After my visit to the cafe, there in the city I attended Bible study with some of my Christian expat friends who live here in Morocco.  I've been so thankful to God for the fellowship and spiritual community I've shared with them, getting to worship God and celebrate His blessings with them.  I certainly didn't expect to live in a location here in Morocco where I would be able to commune regularly with other Christians, so I've been very grateful for their presence, care, warmth and support of me in my Christian faith.  After Bible study, we had a lovely outdoor barbeque, with grilled chicken and sausages, potato casserole, cake and cookies, among other delicious food.  I felt better after getting to say goodbye to my Christian brothers and sisters there, as well as to some fellow PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) who were there in the city today.  I feel like I get more of a proper sense of closure, putting me more at ease, when, in person and with sufficient time, I get to properly say goodbye to people. And, in this particular context of completing my Peace Corps service, when I get to say proper goodbyes, I feel like I'm appropriately preparing to leave this country where I have lived for two years.

On the bus ride back here to the town where I live here in the Sahara, I consciously looked at this town as we approached it, realizing that surely it was the last time I would view it from that location and angle during my Peace Corps service, and, quite probably, for the last time at all.  Returning here to town so late in the day, admiring the sun setting on the mountains near this town, I considered an analogy of the scope of the sun today to my Peace Corps service.  As the sun set today, so the sun is setting on my Peace Corps service.

Being Content Despite The Circumstances

Not only can you have valuable and insightful self-realizations in humbling and austere circumstances, but, I would contend, you're actually more likely to have such realizations under such conditions. I feel like I had such helpful musings today during a stop on my return trip south from Marrakech, after I went there for the weekend.

Soon before I left Marrakech, I was sweating since it has been hot there. Hence I was happy that I was taking a CTM bus back south to the Sahara. CTM buses are newer, cleaner, brighter, and safer than most other buses here in Morocco. Given that CTM buses are nicer than most other buses here, the air conditioning was on in full force on the bus. I had both of the vents above me completely open, and with the cold air blasting down on me, it felt downright chilly despite the heat outside the bus.

I spent much of the trip south from Marrakech admiring the landscape. While we were riding through the High Atlas mountains, I pointed out a waterfall to a couple of friendly, pleasant French tourists sitting across the aisle from me. Soon after that, we went over the Tichka Pass, at an elevation of 2260 meters, or 7414 feet, above sea level.

When the bus stopped for a lunch break in the small town of Agouim, about one hour north of Ouarzazate, I got off the bus and looked across the street, at the line of shops there. I walked across the street to find some shade. In small Moroccan towns, most shops, including hanoots (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "grocery stores"), close at lunchtime, starting between 12:00 p.m. and 1:00 p.m., and re-open in the latter half of the afternoon. Given that it was nearly 2:00 p.m., I had no trouble finding a closed shop, where I sat on some unused steps.

I pulled out the round bread and the can of tuna in tomato sauce which I'd bought this morning in Marrakech. When I know that I'm going to be traveling during lunchtime, I try to bring a sandwich, or at least what I need to make a sandwich. A lot of the time when buses make these pit stops, they stop in towns where folks sell street food, that is, food that's cooked on the sidewalk. When I eat street food here, I get sick; thus, usually I don't eat it. Consequently, I was glad that I had brought along this food; I was happy to be packing the tuna into the bread and eating it.

After a little while, I became conscious that I was happy to be sitting there eating my lunch amidst discarded tires and scattered garbage. I wondered what had happened to me. Earlier in my Peace Corps service, I had been disgusted and irritated to be constantly surrounded by trash. I wondered if people would think me radically different when I arrive back in the states.

Then I considered how, before I'd started making and eating my sandwich, I'd disinfected my hands with hand sanitizer. I still have some of the same outwardly visible habits I'd had before I came here to Morocco. I figured that people back home wouldn't think I'd become a completely different person. I came to a similar conclusion again after I'd finished eating, when I cleaned my hands with a sanitizing hand wipe.

It's not that I haven't changed in significant ways. I have changed in a variety of ways. Yet I've also retained certain habits. As I noted above, I've changed how I approach the phenomenon of garbage on the ground here. It's not that I no longer care about it; I certainly do still care about it. I just don't let it irritate me. I do what I can about it. I've done environmental lessons about properly disposing of trash and respecting the environment, and I've otherwise tried to instruct youths about properly getting rid of garbage. Knowing that I've been doing something about it, I'm less prone to get angry about it.

Yet it's not just about doing something about it. Yes, if you care, you're going to do something about it. But I'm not less bothered by trash on the ground simply because I've been trying to address it. I'm also increasingly more at peace with my surroundings, because I've been endeavoring to value what's most important in life. Thus I try to focus on what nourishes me, and especially what is most essential, namely treasuring how God feeds my spirit, and I try to ignore what ultimately are more trivial matters.

I've always strived to live as simply as possible. I've always tried to value most highly those gifts of each day which have been most supportive and nourishing of my mind, body and spirit.

Thus, I realized, as I was sitting on that concrete stoop, eating my lunch amidst scraps of garbage, that I was content merely because I had food to eat. I found irrelevant the circumstances in which I was eating it. I try to focus on what's important. I thank God for my daily bread.

A Bus Ride In Morocco

Recently on my way back to the town where I live here in the Sahara, I was trying to catch a bus south from Marrakech. I went to the CTM bus station, but found that both of the CTM buses out of Marrakech which would be headed down here were already full. I walked to the SupraTours bus station, but soon learned that the SupraTours bus south to the Sahara was also full. Accordingly, I went to the main bus station there in Marrakech, where I was able to get on a bus back south. At the main bus station, one catches buses less fancy than CTM buses and SupraTours buses. The buses are older and generally less comfortable. PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) refer to these buses as "souq buses," because the driver will let you off wherever you like; thus you can take these buses to the souq, or the farmer's market, whereas CTM buses and SupraTours buses generally won't make special stops for you such as at the farmer's market. 

Once I'd gotten my bus ticket, I found my bus and boarded it. When I ride buses here in Morocco, if I can, I always sit in the row furthest back. On the route I travel south from Marrakech back to the town where I live here in the Sahara, the buses go through the High Atlas mountains, and over the Tichka Pass. The buses make many turns on this curvy route. Consequently many people get motion sickness and become nauseous and end up vomiting. Given that I both don't get motion sickness, and given that I also don't want anyone sitting behind me potentially vomiting on me, I always sit in the row furthest back if there's an empty seat there for me. Thus on this particular day, I was sitting all the way in the back of the bus. Admittedly the spot where I was sitting didn't look that comfortable. Thus the Moroccan man sitting across the aisle from me asked me if I was sitting in a good seat. I replied in Darija, that is, in Moroccan Arabic, that it wasn't a good seat, but that I was a little insane. One is always likely to elicit a laugh if one insinuates that one is crazy. Accordingly, the man laughed, and, as people here do when they think that someone has made a good joke, he shook my hand.

Soon after we had this laugh, we were visited by some folks on the bus who did not end up traveling with us. Moroccans who are not traveling walk onto these less fancy buses and peddle different things, most commonly bottles of water, snacks, shoes and jewelry. Moroccans also walk onto the buses asking for alms. After I'd boarded this bus, there was quite a while until we were going to leave. Thus multiple people boarded the bus trying to sell their various items.

At one point the Moroccan man sitting across the aisle from me was surrounded by four kids, seemingly about eight to twelve years old. They were trying to sell him different things, which I believe included water and gum. Noting the little gathering around him, I suggested to him in Darija, "It's a little market here on the bus." Later, after the kids had left, I joked with him that if someone has to go shopping, he or she doesn't have to go to a hanoot, which is Darija for "grocery store." Rather, all someone has to do is board a souq bus and sit there for a little while before it leaves, and someone can do all of his or her shopping there on the bus. Of course, I exaggerate. One can't buy anything and everything from the folks who board trying to peddle their goods. For example, after my comment that being aboard a souq bus just before it leaves is like being at the market, that fellow sitting across the aisle from me noted that no one had come aboard the bus trying to sell vegetables.

And indeed, people are limited in how many different types of things they can sell on the buses partly due to time constraints. After a while, we were off on our way south from Marrakech and on to the High Atlas mountains. When we were passing through some of the highest spots on that road, I was pleased to yet again spot a waterfall, despite it being so long since the winter, thus with presumably less melting snow to feed a waterfall. Thus I was happy that day not only to get in some good laughs, sharing some humor with one of my fellow passengers, but I was also glad to get to enjoy some natural beauty on my way back south to the Sahara.

A Marvelous Day

I had a marvelous day today. This morning, I got up early and read the Bible. Then I headed out from the hotel room in Casablanca where I stayed last night. I caught a petit taxi to the Catholic monastery, where I attended Mass at 9:00 a.m. Mexican nuns live in the monastery. Thus, the nun who read one of the Scripture readings spoke in Spanish. However, the parishioner who read the other of the first two Scripture readings spoke in French. The priest spoke in French, so most of the Mass was in French.

Before the Mass had begun, I had been feeling a bit unsettled. Thus I appreciated the nuns' prayers before Mass. By the time Mass had started, I was feeling calmer, more at peace, and more focused on being in the chapel.

After Mass ended, I took a petit taxi to Cathedral Notre Dame de Lourdes for the 11:00 a.m. Mass there. When I arrived, I saw tourists with cameras exiting the church and getting back onto tour buses. Upon entering the church grounds, I discovered a grotto honoring the Virgin Mary. Once I got a better look at the cathedral, I realized that it was quite tall. Yet only upon entering the cathedral did I learn that this cathedral houses an amazing set of stained-glass windows. On both sides of the cathedral is stained glass, continuously stretching, uninterrupted, from the rear of the cathedral all the way to its front, depicting God, angels and believers. Above these scenes depicted on the stained glass, many long thin shafts of stained glass stretched up to the high ceiling. It was certainly fine and beautiful artwork.

In addition to the magnificent stained glass, I once again enjoyed the song during Mass today. I enjoyed how, in the absence of a choir at the cathedral, before Mass had begun, a young woman was leading all of the congregants in practicing the song of the day. It made the experience of attending Mass seem even more communal than it normally already feels. I get so much support and nourishment out of attending Mass, especially here in Morocco, where I am not in the physical presence of other Christians on a regular basis. I'm grateful for the presence of other Christians, who share my faith and encourage me in it. I have much for which I am thankful, and that certainly includes them.

Explaining My Beliefs

As I mentioned in my last blog entry, a couple of days ago, my friend and fellow PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) Samantha came here to the town where I live to pick up some things which I've been trying to unload. After she had collected what she was inheriting from me, I walked with her to the bus station.

After she had gotten on the bus, a man started speaking with me in Darija, that is, Moroccan Arabic. He asked me if I was taking the bus too. After I told him I wasn't going to be taking the bus, we started talking about traveling in Morocco. He asked me where I've been in Morocco. I said I'd been to Agadir and Sidi Ifni. I didn't get to mention anywhere else. When I said I'd been to Sidi Ifni, he said he's from there, and the topic of conversation shifted to that town.

After that, he asked me if I had fasted during Ramadan. I told him that I wasn't fasting during Ramadan. He asked me if I'm Muslim. I told him that I'm not Muslim, that I'm Christian. He asked me if I'm going to become Muslim. I told him that I'm not going to become Muslim because it's so important to me to try to live as Jesus lived. He replied that Jesus is in Islam. I then explained that Jesus' place in Islam isn't the same as it is in Christianity. I explained that Islam states that Jesus didn't die on the cross, whereas Christianity relates how Jesus did die on the cross. We didn't have more time to take the conversation further than that, because he was getting on the bus, which was about to leave.

However, it's pretty clear to me that here is a major difference between Islam and Christianity. After all, if someone merely says he's willing to die for you, but doesn't actually die for you, that's clearly, significantly different than if that person actually does die for you.

Buy Local

After summer camp, I came back to the town where I live down here in the Sahara. For part of my return trip, I traveled with some friends, Chadwick, Tirzah and Emily, who are some fellow PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers), on a bus. At one point the bus made a pit stop for about an hour. My friends and I figured that we might as well eat while we were there. After we'd eaten our meal there, I wanted to get something sweet for dessert, so I bought some cold milk at a hanoot (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "small grocery store"), then walked to another hanoot to buy something sweet. Upon arriving at the second hanoot, I saw some large chocolate bars on the counter. I didn't recognize the brand name, so I picked up one of them, and saw on the back of it that it had been made in Morocco.

I'd been wanting to have some of this particular kind of Moroccan chocolate, but hadn't been seeing it while I'd been shopping over the last couple of years here. So I grabbed the bar of Moroccan chocolate so I could buy it. The man sitting at the back of the hanoot saw me pick up the large bar of Moroccan chocolate. He picked up a large bar of the Spanish chocolate which I see so often here in Morocco and brought it to me. It looks very similar to the Moroccan chocolate bar; both are big bars in red packages with white lettering. Consequently I could see how, from the other side of the hanoot, he might think that I wanted to buy a bar of the Spanish chocolate. But once he'd gotten to the counter, it struck me how he didn't comment that I should indeed buy the Moroccan chocolate. Since he's Moroccan, I would've expected him to urge me to buy the Moroccan product.

Get In Line

I've learned not to expect lines to form here in Morocco. When buying just about anything, most likely there won't be a line, so if you get someplace first, it doesn't mean you'll be helped first.

Considering this context of lines tending not to form, yesterday morning I was surprised when I was buying my ticket at the train station in Rabat. As I was standing at the counter speaking with the attendant, at a couple of different moments, people came up to the counter and tried to buy their tickets before I had finished buying my ticket. Without giving them any information or selling them tickets, the attendant directed them to go back and form a line.

However, it wasn't as if a revolution had begun in which people far and wide were being directed to form lines here in Morocco. Yesterday afternoon after I had arrived in Marrakech, when I was in the bus station trying to buy a bus ticket back down to the town where I live in the Sahara, Moroccan men were walking up to the counter where I already was, inquiring if certain buses were full, and getting their questions answered before I'd bought my ticket.

I Don't Have A Lot Of Money

I think I've finally gotten used to Moroccans figuring that I have a lot of money. Certainly there are other non-Moroccans, including citizens of the USA, here in Morocco who spend more money than I do on my relatively meager budget as a PCV.

Last week, after I left my friend's apartment in a town near Marrakech, I briefly visited the mountain town of Imlil. From Imlil, ambitious hikers launch their attempts at climbing Mount Toubkal, which, at over 13,000 feet, is the highest peak not only in Morocco but in all of North Africa.

As a sidebar, for those of you who know me fairly well, and know that I love to hike, to answer the question which might have just arisen in your minds, no, I didn't hike to the top of Mount Toubkal. I hadn't been doing training hikes to prepare for a multi-day hike involving such distance and elevation gain. Furthermore, I wouldn't have been able to buy enough food to provide the energy necessary to complete such a strenuous hike.

But I still wanted to get a bit closer to the mountains. I've enjoyed fantastic views of the High Atlas mountains many times whilst on the bus from Ouarzazate to Marrakech, especially in the vicinity of the Tichka Pass. I've been grateful that I can enjoy repeatedly such sweeping panoramic views here in Morocco.

So after leaving my friend's apartment about an hour from Marrakech, I took a taxi down to Imlil. I found a restaurant there in Imlil where I got a scrambled egg sandwich for 10 dirhams. Soon after I ate lunch, I headed back to the grand taxi stand to catch a taxi back to Marrakech. Insofar as I arrived back at the taxi stand during lunchtime, I had to wait for a taxi to Marrakech to fill up. During lunchtime, fewer people are taking taxis since they're at home eating. As I was sitting at the taxi stand, waiting for five other people to show up to fill a taxi with me, the taxi driver told me I could pay for all six spots to Marrakech and ride just with him to Marrakech. Other taxi drivers in other locations here in Morocco have also suggested that option to me when I've been waiting for a taxi to fill up. I imagine that other folks from the USA visiting Morocco have probably bought out the other seats in taxis. I suspect that that's why grand taxi drivers suggest the idea to me as I wait for a taxi to fill up. I suppose I often have the money to do so. However, I don't have a lot of money to spare. So it would strain my resources to pay for all six seats and ride the taxi with just the driver, so I don't do it.

Another instance during my recent travels when a Moroccan has seemed to think that I've got a lot of money to burn: I spent some time last week in the town of Sidi Ifni, on the Atlantic coast. It's a quiet beach town, much of which is set up high on some cliffs. Being on the coast, it was usually cool, which was a welcome respite from the heat in the town in which I live down in the Sahara. A mool-hanoot (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "grocery storekeeper") in Sidi Ifni as much as acknowledged the pleasant difference in climate soon after he started asking me some basic questions about myself. I told him that I've lived here in Morocco since September 2010, but that I live several hours south of Marrakech, in the Sahara. He opined that the climate is much nicer and more hospitable in Sidi Ifni than in Ouarzazate. He then suggested that I consider renting an apartment in Sidi Ifni rather than staying in a hotel in Sidi Ifni. He told me thst I could rent an apartment in Sidi Ifni for 2000 dirhams per month. I calmly told him that I didn't have that much money. Again, there probably have been other foreigners who have spent a lot more in Sidi Ifni than I did. So I understand why he may have thought I could afford to pay that much to rent an apartment.

And another instance on this most recent trip when I thought that a Moroccan may have figured that I had a lot to spend: on my way north from Sidi Ifni, the bus on which I was traveling stopped in the town of Tiznit to drop off and pick up passengers. It either made a second stop in Tiznit, or a stop just north of Tiznit, at a gas station which had a plaza with a couple of restaurants. Normally I don't get out and eat lunch at such places where the bus stops. When I was just in Tiznit, though, we were stopped in the middle of the lunch hour. I also knew I wasn't going to get another chance to eat lunch until I arrived in the city of Agadir. So I got off the bus to check out the lunch options.

I was pleasantly surprised to see that I could buy a quarter kilogram of grilled ground meat for a scant 8 dirhams. Immediately I ordered the quarter kilo of meat. After I'd ordered it, I thought about how I'd need some carbohydrates along with the bread to avoid digestive difficulties. When the waiter brought my grilled meat, I asked him if I could have some bread with the meat. He brought me a small round loaf of bread. I asked him how much for the bread; he made a motion with his hand which I took to mean that it was complimentary with the grilled meat. When lunch places here serve bread with lunch, it's typically for no charge. In any event, the waiter didn't tell me any number in response to my question. I used the bread as a pita, filling it with the grilled meat, onions, tomatoes and parsley I'd been served.

When I'd finished eating, and went to pay, the cashier asked me what I'd had. I told him I'd ordered a quarter kilo of meat. He asked another restaurant worker, who told him I'd had a sandwich. The cashier told me it was 30 dirhams. Not pointing out how the sandwiches ran only up to 20 dirhams, I pointed to where the menu said that a quarter kilo of meat was 8 dirhams. He told me I'd had a sandwich, and then told me I had to pay 24 dirhams. I explained how I ordered a quarter kilo of meat, then asked the waiter how much the bread was, and how he had seemed to say that the bread was included with the meal I'd ordered. I left the 8 dirhams on the counter and walked back to the bus.

I certainly can imagine how the cashier could have had a similar conversation with a Moroccan who could order a quarter kilo of meat, ask for bread, make a sandwich with it, be seen eating a sandwich, and then be told that he'd had a sandwich, and be quoted the price for a sandwich. However, I suspect that I was being treated differently than Moroccans, because the cashier told me I had to pay prices for sandwiches which weren't on the menu.

I can understand being perceived as having more money than many Moroccans. I'm less accepting of being quoted prices more than Moroccans are given. I've come to the conclusion that perceptions are one thing; often it's reasonable to have certain perceptions. What people do with those perceptions is another story, and often reflect the values of the people with those perceptions.

I Don't Believe In Riches, But You Should See Where I Live

This afternoon I was in the bus station in Ouarzazate. As I was waiting for my bus to arrive, I saw a dog looking up eagerly and expectantly at a fellow who apparently was its owner, because he was holding a leash. I was surprised to see a dog which appeared to be a pet. One doesn't see many pets here in Morocco, and that includes dogs. When someone has a dog here, it always seems to be an expat who has the dog as a pet, and even then, most expats don't have dogs as pets here. Then I was even more surprised to see that the man holding the leash appeared to be a Moroccan. It was the first time I'd seen someone who seemed to be Moroccan with a pet dog.

I was waiting in the main bus station in Ouarzazate, where one catches older buses. These buses tend not to be in as good condition as the buses of the SupraTours and CTM bus companies. We PCVs here in Morocco tend to call these older buses "souq buses," since they'll let you off wherever you want to get out, and since you can therefore take one to the souq, or farmer's market, unlike the CTM and SupraTours buses, which won't stop at the souq for you.

Since I was on a souq bus, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the bus was air-conditioned! I'm inclined to agree with another PCV, who'd theorized that these air-conditioned buses used to be SupraTours buses, perhaps until SupraTours sold them. I also figured that this particular bus had just gotten so old that SupraTours had sold it. When we stopped for a break, as I was getting off the bus to walk around a bit, I looked down at the odometer, and saw that the bus had 995,703 kilometers on it! That means it had over 617,335 miles on it!

I certainly appreciated the air conditioning, given how it's the summer here, and how it's been hot in the town where I live down in the Sahara. I enjoyed pleasant temperatures when the bus was moving, but only partly due to the air conditioning. Combined with how it wasn't very hot through the territory in which the bus was traveling, which was surprising especially considering that it's June, and how we were at a higher elevation, and how the roof vents were open, I often felt cool during the trip north through the High Atlas mountains. At one point, I looked down at my arm, and saw that I had goosebumps!
 
As I rode on the bus, I was listening to music through my headphones. Soon after going over the Tichka Pass in the High Atlas mountains, at the moment I caught a glimpse of the first wide open expansive magnificent priceless view, I found it very appropriate as I heard Bono of the band U2 sing the lyrics, "I don't believe in riches but you should see where I live."

I've certainly been grateful for the gorgeous landscape here in Morocco. During that highest stretch of road through the High Atlas mountains, I was glad to see a waterfall, which was strongly flowing. Later, once we'd descended a considerable elevation, I was enjoying seeing many bushes with pink flowers and densely packed evergreen trees. I've enjoyed much other beautiful scenery during my time here in Morocco. Honestly I haven't missed having as much money as I used to have. I've felt constantly blessed by God with other types of riches which, I feel, are more enduring, more profound, and which nourish me in healthier ways.

Get Used To The Wait

On my travels back down south this week, I stopped in the town where my friend, who's also a fellow PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer), lives and works. After he met me at the bus station, he took me to the shop where his friends, some Moroccan women who are local artisans, sell rugs. As we were sitting in their shop speaking with them, they invited us to their home for dinner.

After we were at their shop for not too long, we left to go to their home. When we arrived at their home, perhaps around 10:00 p.m., some helwa shebakiya, a sticky, sweet Moroccan dessert, was served. While we knew we would be eating pasta for dinner, there was no sign of when mealtime would be. As the night wore on, it became clear that we weren't going to be eating dinner anytime soon.

At one point, my fellow PCV's female artisan friends left the home. He explained that someone had called expressing interest in buying rugs from them, so they went to meet the potential purchasers. As we commented to each other that it was already late to eat, and that it was getting later for dinner, my fellow PCV joked that his female artisan friends went to Italy to buy pasta.

I was getting very tired since it was getting so late. I was glad when we finally ate, partly because the pasta sauce was delicious, also since I was happy to be eating vegetables in the sauce, and because my fellow PCV cooked the pasta so it wasn't so soft as it is when Moroccans cook pasta. But I was also thankful to be finally eating, since we ended up eating dinner at 1:00 a.m.!

Traveling As A PCV In Morocco

I still have a couple of weeks of vacation time left. Given that I'm nearing the end of my Peace Corps service, I've got to use my vacation time now, if I'm going to use it. Therefore, I've been traveling this week. At the beginning of the week, I visited a friend, Bill, who lives north of my town. He showed me around his town. Since he's a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) who works in small business development, he was introducing me to women who have been learning how to make shoes, weave rugs and baskets, and make keftans (long Moroccan women's robes) and handkerchiefs. In addition to giving me the tour of his town, he also hosted me in his apartment until the next day. I was grateful for his hospitality and generosity. Since it's been getting hot, I especially appreciated how he served another PCV and me cold watermelon and green cantaloupe.

Later in the week, I was happy to visit a Franciscan monastery. I managed to make it there for a service at 7:15 a.m. It was all in French, so I understood very little of it. I'd previously attended masses in French here in Morocco, but for some reason I seemed to encounter a particular difficulty which I don't recall experiencing on prior occasions. I found singing hymns in French more difficult than I'd expected. Later I considered that when singing in English, I'm not only reading the words, I'm also looking to see if the notes go up or down in the songs. Then I realized that when trying to sing in French, I'm struggling with words I don't know in French as an added element on top of trying to read and seeing whether the notes go up or down. But I was glad to be worshipping God with other Christians, since I don't get to do so with other Christians much here.

After the service, I spoke with the expatriate Franciscan monks and nuns who live in the monastery. They were very warm and friendly. I told them that I've benefited considerably from having a lot of time to read while living here. Consequently I've devoted much time to opening the door for God, to trying to place myself before God, so as to be receptive to what God is saying to me. I often think of Revelation 3:20 as a reminder to approach my relationship with God in this way. I was grateful to these monks and nuns for their implicit support of me and other Christians in our walk of faith and path in trying to emulate Jesus.

A couple of the elderly nuns were especially sweet, continuing to clasp my hand as they spoke with me. As I spoke with one of them, I was finding it difficult to speak in French, since I've been infrequently speaking French. She told me to speak in Darija, which was much easier!

After not too long, I was parting ways with the monks and nuns. As I was saying goodbye to them, one of the elderly nuns called me "Xuya," which is Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "my brother," as she next further noted that we're all brothers and sisters.

After I bid adieu to the monks and nuns, I caught a bus so I could continue further north on my journey. I was happy to be able to take a bus with the CTM bus company. CTM buses are nicer, and newer, than most other buses here in Morocco. In addition to also being more reliable than a lot of other buses, they're also air-conditioned, unlike many other buses here in Morocco. As I traveled north, I enjoyed more beautiful scenery, including green meadows giving way to hills covered with evergreen trees. In this area of Morocco, snow covers the ground in winter. But this month, there was no snow on the ground there, unlike when I traveled the same route on my way to PPST (Post-Pre-Service Training) back in February 2011.

This time as I approached Azrou, although I didn't see any snow, in addition to the green meadows, I also saw purple and yellow flowers. At one point, the bus slowed down since sheep were running into the road. Their shepherd, protective of his sheep, got them back off of the road. I saw other flocks of sheep later before arriving in Azrou.

Once I arrived in Azrou, I caught another bus to the town of Ifrane. I'd heard that Ifrane seemed different from the rest of Morocco. The French built Ifrane in the 1930s. Thus it has architecture different from rest of Morocco, namely houses with pointed roofs. However, I must admit that I was disappointed once I arrived in Ifrane, given how people had told me that Ifrane was very different. It didn't seem significantly different from the rest of Morocco. Ifrane is also known for its gardens, some of which are quite pleasant and pretty, with trimmed grass and flower beds with purple, lavender, orange and yellow flowers.

After visiting Ifrane, next I headed to the city of Meknes, where I stayed for the night. In the morning, I headed further north, to the ancient Roman ruins at the site of Volubilis, or Oualili in Arabic. Volubilis is still being excavated, but there's much interesting already to see there. A massive arch, built by local residents out of gratitude for being exempt from taxes, still stands there. The ancient baths remain. I was most impressed by the mosaics. In addition to enjoying the skill of the artists, I marvelled at how well they've endured against the elements for nearly two millenia.

After exploring at Volubilis, I continued north up here to Chefchaouen. I'd been wanting to come to Chefchaouen for a while, and I'm glad I finally did. I'd heard that a planned visit to Chefchaouen of a few days often easily turns into a stay of a week or more, since it has such a mellow, relaxed atmosphere, which I'm now glad to be feeling myself. I've also been appreciating the scenic beauty here. Chefchaouen is nestled at the foot of the Rif mountains. Its medina, that is, the old part of the city, is whitewashed and also covered in various shades of blue. I also tend to especially enjoy a medina when its streets slope more steeply, as they do here.

I'm thankful to be a PCV here in Morocco. There's so much to do and see here, and, more importantly, I'm grateful to be having mutually supportive relationships and interactions with such warm and generous people here, which is, after all, why I came here in the first place.

Is It Really Necessary?

This morning I met up with a fellow PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer), Jim, who happened to be passing through the town where I live down here in the Sahara. I mentioned to him that earlier that morning, I had been recalling how I'd recently been in the Moroccan city of Errachidia. I related how I showed up to catch an early morning bus there and was told that it had departed a half hour before it was scheduled to depart. I explained to him that because it had occurred to me early this morning that that might have happened to him this morning, I'd sent him a text message asking him to appraise me about how his trip was going. He arrived here when he'd planned. Similarly, on that recent morning in Errachidia, I got on a bus leaving a couple of hours later than the one I'd originally been planning on catching.

Considering both of these journeys, that of my friend this morning, and my recent trip out of Errachidia, and how neither of us were all that much delayed, since we both got to our destinations when we wanted to arrive, I pondered that sometimes we can make things into a bigger deal than they really are. We can think that things matter more than they really do.

I got confirmation of this realization in another way today. When I finished washing my bedsheets this morning, I began to wring the water out of the sheets, since the spin compartment of my washing machine recently stopped working.

First, I acknowledge that I am fortunate even to have a washing machine at all. I am conscious of, and often note, how most PCVs around the world don't have a washing machine at their disposal. I thank God for this and the many other blessings in my life.

To further explain, once I had squeezed the water out of my bedsheets, had hung them, and then retrieved the sheets from the clotheslines on my roof this afternoon, I noted that it didn't matter that the spin function no longer works in the washing machine. The sheets dried in just as much time as they would have dried had I still had the spin function to use. I had despaired when it stopped working, partly because of issues I have in gripping things. But it turns out, now that it's gone, that it doesn't really matter that I don't have it to use anymore. It leads once again to the question, which can apply to so many things in our lives, "Is it really necessary?"

Someone I'm Going To Aspire To Emulate

Yesterday I took a Marrakech city bus on my way from the center of Marrakech to the town where my friend and fellow PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) Jack lives. The city buses are much cheaper than taxis. I paid 6 dirhams for the 45-minute bus ride. If I'd taken a taxi, probably I would've paid at least 25 dirhams. The bus fare is set, whereas a taxi driver could end up trying to charge you a lot and you might either try haggling with him, or pay more than you think you should pay, even though you'd be frustrated.

I'm reminded of what a more experienced PCV told me during my first couple of months in Morocco. He noted how a lot of PCVs don't like Marrakech. Some PCVs get turned off by Marrakech and frustrated by it since they wind up spending a lot of money in the city, including while getting overcharged for taxi rides. This particular more experienced PCV advised to learn and use the city bus system. Having taken his tip, the same as the directions given to me by my friend who I'm visiting here near Marrakech, I'm reminded that we should get help and guidance from one another. To do so, it can be easier if one shares how one is feeling. If you're frustrated about a situation, or otherwise feeling challenged by it, tell someone else how you feel about it. Not only will you tend to feel better simply because you've verbalized your feelings, and shared them with someone who can empathize with you, but once the other person knows that you've been struggling with it, he or she can share helpful ideas that he or she may have. Conversely, if you don't share how you feel, you're making it harder for the other person to help you.

Let the other person help you. And in the process, see what you learn about giving and receiving. Last night, I was happy to arrive at my friend's apartment. He welcomed me to his home as he always does when I come to visit. As the evening progressed, he showed me much hospitality. Before I'd sat down, he offered me some of the potato chips he was eating. A little while later, we had breakfast for dinner when he made us some delicious French toast. He gave me half of the orange he was having. He offered me some fancy chocolate. When he went to get a yogurt for himself, he checked to see if I wanted one. He's an unusually magnanimous and gracious host: he's someone I'm going to aspire to emulate.

How I Recently Felt Great About My Language Skills

I've been living here in Morocco for over a year now. I haven't had anyone from the US visit me here yet, though that is about to change. Even though I haven't yet had anyone from the states visit me here in Morocco, I have already hosted visitors to my town. Usually they have been fellow PCVs.

Last week, I was presented with a different kind of opportunity. As I was returning south to my town down here in the Sahara, I caught a bus in Marrakech. Soon after I sat down on the bus, I started speaking with a young man from the US and a young woman from Belgium who were sitting across the aisle from me. When they got off the bus later in the day, I told them to contact me if they decided to visit my town.

Later in the week, they called me and arrived here in my town. I took them on a walk through the palmerie, the huge grove of palm trees which extends as far as the eye can see. I brought them to the tops of some hills from which we enjoyed beautiful vistas, of the palmerie, the mountains, and the town. While I was showing them the town and the landscape, we ran into various people I know here. My new friends witnessed Moroccan friendliness and, indeed, hospitality, as we were invited to share tea. At my host family's home, in addition to tea, we also enjoyed cookies and peanuts. A little later, we dined with them. Since it was Friday, my host family served couscous topped with zucchini and other vegetables for lunch, as couscous is the typical Friday lunchtime meal here in Morocco.

Given that my new friends don't speak any Darija, that is, Moroccan Arabic, I was translating everything for them. Having reached a plateau in my learning of Darija more than half a year ago, at times I have felt as though my Darija skills could be better than they are. However, during my friends' visit here in my town, I felt pretty good about my abilities in Darija, since I had to translate everything for them. It reminded me of how far I've progressed in Darija since I arrived in Morocco over a year ago.

As with evaluating one's own language abilities, often in other ways in life, it can be easy to focus on what you'd like to be doing, but aren't doing, perhaps because you're not as skilled as you'd like to be. But I think it's much better to focus on, and remind yourself, of what you are capable of doing, rather than become discouraged because of what it seems that you cannot presently do. Remind yourself how far you've come. And where you're headed. And how to get there: by having faith, by loving yourself as God loves you, reminding yourself from where you derive your strength, and by calling upon that source of your strength.

The Long Goodbye

My friend Ben just COSd (closed his service) as a PCV last month. After he COSd, he was traveling around Africa for a few weeks. He recently returned to Morocco during the course of his travels, but I'd already bid him farewell more than once, each time thinking that I wasn't going to see him again before he left Africa. As I was on a bus on my way back to my town yesterday, I received a text message from him. He asked me if I was still planning on not being in my town that night. I texted him back and told him I'd be there in 20 minutes. I didn't expect to see him again until sometime after I COS myself. I'm currently scheduled to COS in November 2012, so I didn't expect to see him again until sometime after that, and I didn't expect to see him until we were both back in the US.

When I arrived back in my town, I learned that he was immediately trying to get on a bus. I knew that he had been planning on leaving the province that day to make his way north out of Morocco, on his gradual way back to the US. However, once I received the text in which he said he was in my town, I thought that he would just want to stay the night in my living room, and leave the next morning. He quickly ascertained that all of the buses were full, so it became clear that he would be crashing at my place last night.

We took all of his belongings to my apartment, and I got to host him one more time before he heads back to the US as a RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer). This morning, on our way to the town square, he stopped at the post office and bought a large box. He emptied some of his belongings into the box. During the process, he gave me a couple of things, including a backpack! I was grateful for it, and thanked him for it. Then he sent the box to his family in the US, so he would have fewer things to carry on his circuitous travels back to the US. Once he had finished dealing with the box, we continued up to the town square, and, more specifically, to the taxi stand for folks headed north. After we loaded his bags into the grand taxi, we were waiting for the taxi to fill up. The guys running the taxi stand, as always, asked how many places he wanted. Ben replied, "Wahd," meaning "One," since he was traveling by himself.

He and I then passed the time while waiting for the taxi to fill up partly by taking pictures, including of his stuffed teddy bear. Ben is making an adventure picture book for his young niece in which he is chronicling the adventures of his bear, Jillabo, during travels around the world. As Ben travels, he places Jillabo in various locations around the globe, making it appear as if Jillabo is doing a variety of things such as climbing towers, sitting on sidewalks, and traveling in taxis. During our wait for Ben's taxi to fill up, one of the guys at the taxi stand again asked Ben how many places he needed in the taxi. Ben again replied, "Wahd." The Moroccan guy replied, "Lla; juj," meaning, "No; two," as he pointed first to Ben, and said, "Wahd," and then pointed to Jillabo and said, "Juj." When you like a joke someone tells here or some other humorous comment, often you shake the person's hand, so I shook the guy's hand for that one.

And a little later, "Safi, baraka." That's it, enough. The driver said it was time to go. The taxi had filled up. Ben and I hugged each other and he got into the taxi. It promptly pulled away as he finally headed out from the province.

Prioritizing

Last weekend, I went to the city that's about an hour away from my town. I had very much wanted to return there for Bible study with the group of Christians I had met there earlier this year.

Before last weekend, I had had the idea in my head that if I was going to go to the city, I had to stay overnight there for at least one, if not two, nights, to make the trip worthwhile. Last week, I realized that I could take a bus or a grand taxi there on Sunday morning, and take a bus or taxi back here to my town on Sunday afternoon.

Essentially I realized that I had to prioritize. It's not a priority to have a weekend outside of my town. In fact, one of my priorities is to make sure I don't spend too much time outside of my town.

I concluded that by going there for just part of one day, I'm focusing on what's most important, tending to my spiritual health and well-being. I spend time doing what's most important, while at the same time not spending a night outside my community. Taking care of everything, while being sure to do what's most important.

So, last weekend, I went into the city just for the day. That day, I felt, as I do now feel, supported and encouraged in my faith by the other Christians there; I'm very thankful to have the spiritual community I have with them. After the Bible study session, we had a potluck barbeque lunch there in one of their houses. In the meal, I especially appreciated the barbequed chicken, the barbequed sausages, and the potato salad. All of the desserts were great; we had German chocolate cake for the birthday of one of the women there in the group; we also had chocolate brownies, which were enjoyably gooey; and we also had some yummy peanut butter brownies with chocolate chips in them.

After the barbeque, I headed back here to my town. I was sad to be leaving them after having had such a good time. At the same time, I'm glad that they're so nearby.

It Could Be Much Worse

When faced with a situation which I find difficult, sometimes because I have to wait longer than I had originally expected for something to happen, or because I can't get what I want right away, I often cope by telling myself that it could be much worse. It was in this vein that I found it very appropriate that I was reading some writings by the Trappist monk Thomas Merton as I was waiting over an hour for a grand taxi in a small town here in Morocco last week. In these particular writings, Merton describes how certain Christians coped with the crimes being committed by the Nazis during World War II, and how they coped with expectations that they participate in such atrocities. In particular, Merton writes about the Austrian Franz Jagerstatter, who was executed in 1943 for refusing to serve in the Nazi military forces. I believe that because I was reading about Jagerstatter, and about his refusal to serve in the Nazi forces, and about how he instead adhered to what he felt was a pure form of Christianity, even though the Nazis executed him for it, I gained a good deal of perspective, and was filled with a great deal of patience. I realized that what I perceived to be a problem, namely waiting for what seemed to be a long time for a taxi, if it actually was even a problem at all, was relatively minor, mundane and unimportant, compared with the challenging moral questions which many people have faced in other, much more stressful circumstances.

And soon enough, as if to validate my acceptance of the true nature of my situation, a bus stopped on the main road, dropping off some people, some of whom wanted to travel on the more minor road on which I had been waiting. Consequently, with these new arrivals, a taxi filled up and was ready to leave.

I was in a full taxi, riding to my destination, the town of my friend and fellow PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) Ben. He is finishing his service as a PCV this week, so I wanted to visit him in his town before he leaves. We had a good time during my visit. A Peace Corps staff person was visiting his site that day, so as to be more familiar with the town if and when a new PCV starts living there. So we spent part of the day walking around his town, and at times in the process enjoyed great views of the palmerie, the massive grove of palm trees there. We had great meals. One was a tajine with Ben's host family. Another one was at a cafe, and included tomato and onion salad, omelettes, French fries, olives, bread, and olive oil.

When I left his town the next day, I thought about how I was sad that he was about to leave. But then I thought that because he's leaving, that also means that I'm that much further along in my service. Which means that I'm in the thick of being able to help people here in Morocco. And learn things here.

And as I type this, I also know that things could be much worse. Because I have been blessed by God with the freedom which accompanies so many opportunities to give, and in the process, to grow. And thus live the life of love which I aspire to live.

Gone Food Shoppin'

When I was in the city at the beginning of last week, I took the opportunity to go shopping in one of the supermarkets there. When Moroccans call a store a supermarket, or a "supermarché," as they are called in French, Moroccans are often referring to a store which would be too small to be considered a supermarket in the U.S.

As I've mentioned in previous blog entries, when I'm here in my town, I buy food at hanoots (which is the Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, word for a grocery store of sorts, and which often is a stall carved out of the front of a building with a counter at its front). Typically a hanoot is so small that you just walk up to the counter. You don't walk into the hanoot, because there's no doorway, there's just the counter. In that case, you ask the person (almost invariably a man, at least down here in rural southern Morocco) for what you want, and he brings it to the counter for you. Sometimes a hanoot is large enough that you can walk inside and peruse items on the shelves and bring them to the counter yourself. However, given that I live in a town of less than ten thousand people, not a city, there are items which I can't get when I go shopping at the hanoots here in my town.

So, when I go to the nearest city, which has a population of tens of thousands, I usually visit a supermarché and buy items there which I can't get in my town. A supermarché here in Morocco is often about twice the size of what we would usually call a corner store in the U.S. Sometimes in the supermarché I can buy things which I can't buy in my town; other times in supermarchés, there are more varieties of items than I can buy from hanoots in my town. For example, last week at a supermarché there in the city, I bought some applesauce, which I can't buy in my town. Given how much Moroccans sweeten their food and drink, unsurprisingly I found the applesauce to be too sweet for my liking. However, it was still nice to have it. Much more often, at either of the two supermarchés there in that city, I buy peanut butter, which I also can't get here in my town. There's one brand of peanut butter which has entire peanut halves mixed throughout the peanut butter. There's another brand which manufactures both creamy peanut butter and crunchy peanut butter, both of which are just like peanut butter you can buy in the U.S.

In some cities, such as El Jadida and Rabat, there are slightly larger supermarchés, perhaps four times the size of a corner store in the U.S., which consequently have more variety, and which belong to a chain. When I visited one of them for the first time in El Jadida, I was amazed (coming from the perspective of living in rural Morocco) at the variety of yogurt available in that supermarché. I noted to my friend and fellow PCV Ben that one side of part of one aisle, a part of the aisle which probably ran for 25 to 30 feet, stocked an unbroken stretch of yogurt. I can, and do, buy yogurt in my town, but not from such a wide variety.

Moving beyond supermarchés of these aforementioned sizes here in Morocco, there are stores here in Morocco which citizens of the U.S. indeed would consider supermarkets. In large cities, including Fes and Marrakech (each of which has a population of about 1 million people), one can visit these large supermarkets. Again, sometimes one can buy things at these large supermarkets which one can't buy in a rural town, or, someone has more choices amongst varieties of items than one can buy in a rural town.

Frankly, though, I don't find myself feeling any strong need or desire to visit and shop at these largest supermarkets here in Morocco. Even when I go to the small supermarchés in a city here in southern Morocco, I'm not buying things which I need--I'm buying products which give me a little taste of home, which are nice to have, but which I don't have to have. I'm thankful to have such supermarchés fairly close to my town, but I realize that they're a luxury, not a necessity.

Thus one can try to be conscious of the distinction between necessary sustenance, and food and drink which are simply nice to have. And that in buying certain food, which is not essential, but which is nice to have, one is buying things which one can buy because one has enough money to buy it. Thus one can see certain purchases as reflecting one's wealth.

However, one can also choose to notice a disparity in wealth as reflected in changes in location within a country. One can choose to be conscious of a disparity in wealth while shopping in urban Morocco as opposed to when shopping in rural Morocco. One can see this disparity in multiple ways.

Partly this disparity is reflected in how one gets to one of these large supermarkets in urban Morocco as compared with how one gets to a hanoot in rural Morocco. Most people shopping at the large supermarkets in urban Morocco drive there, though one can also take a bus or a taxi to some of these large supermarkets. I think that relatively few people walk to these large supermarkets in urban Morocco. By contrast, virtually all rural Moroccans will walk to a hanoot to shop. Indeed, the vast majority of people living here in my town don't own cars.

One also can witness a disparity in shopping between urban Morocco and rural Morocco in the denominations of bills customers use. It's far less likely to be problematic for a customer to pay a grocery bill with a 200 dirham note in a large supermarket in urban Morocco than it is to be difficult at a hanoot in rural Morocco. Although a 200 dirham note is equivalent to about 25 dollars in the U.S., if you want to buy a week's worth of groceries with a 200 dirham note at a hanoot in rural Morocco, as another PCV put it, it's like trying to use a 100 dollar bill in the U.S. Since smaller amounts of currency are flowing in and out of stores in rural Morocco, it's consequently harder to get change for a large bill.

Thus even when doing something as mundane and simple as grocery shopping, we have the opportunity to practice being conscious. To notice what is going on around us, and how we fit into it, and what our part in it is.

Exodus: My One Year Anniversary in Morocco

"Open your eyes,
and look within:
are you satisfied
with the life you're living?"
- Bob Marley

I have long loved the above quotation, from the song entitled "Exodus" by Bob Marley. For two decades, in fact, I have tried to live by it, which has meant asking myself the above question at different points in my life. This has been an inquiry which has been easy for me.

It has been easy for me to see when I am happy as well as contented, when I feel fulfilled, when my being is joyous. I try to pay attention to, and thus it's fairly easy to see, what elicits and fosters these feelings in me. It's easy to ask myself these questions. Years ago, it became clear to me that I feel best when helping others. And it didn't take me long to figure out what my skills are, and thus to ascertain how I can best help others.

Thus I came to the conclusion that I should leave the job which I left last year. Although I felt fulfilled in that job, was grateful to be helping others, considered my co-workers to be blessings in my life, and respected them and the work which they were competently, compassionately, and passionately doing, I felt with a good deal of clarity that I had to move on, because my answers lay elsewhere.

Hence the inquiry was easy. And the general conclusion to leave was easy, despite, for so many reasons, how comfortable I was there with them.

Accepting the answers, on the other hand, at times has not seemed as easy. I consciously use the verb "to seem" rather than the verb "to be" in the previous sentence. As I've tried to suggest in previous blog entries, I have been coming to realize that my feelings of contentment, fulfillment and joy have largely depended on how I choose to perceive what happens in my life. And, now, in this paragraph, I am suggesting that it's up to me how easy the answers seem to be. If I choose to perceive the answers as being difficult to accept, then they will be difficult to accept. If I choose to perceive the answers as being easy to accept, then they will be easy to accept.

While I did not feel especially challenged in my inquiry into whether to leave my job last year, at first the answer of what specifically I should do next did not seem as easy, as I suggested in my very first blog entry, entitled "Up Until Now." I grappled with the idea of joining the Peace Corps, and finally accepted this path one day as I was sitting in church. I changed my perspective, and accepted God's way, rather than resisting it. I knew that there would be difficulties, and challenges, and I chose to confront them, knowing that I would be strengthened in meeting those challenges, because I was accepting God's way, of love and truth.

Perhaps because I approached the Peace Corps from this direction, I appreciated how the Bob Marley song "Exodus" spoke to me about my spiritual journey which has included joining the Peace Corps. When I was on a bus on my way to Spring Camp earlier this year, I was listening to this song. At that point in my time here in Morocco, I had adapted a good deal to life here in Morocco, thus I had just started to feel that I could survive my two years of Peace Corps service here in Morocco. Hence I was listening to the song with a sense of exhausted relief and gratitude, the kind of gratitude one feels after having completed an especially harrowing part of a journey, when one feels that although there are further challenging parts of the journey ahead, that the worst of it has passed, that one has, in effect, been safely shepherded through the stormiest, most trying periods.

Having felt resonance with this song as I listened to it during that bus ride, I later began to inquire why it especially resonated with me at that particular moment. At first, the most basic associations arose in my mind.

Having started to read the Bible with the first chapter of Genesis on November 27 last year, which was my first full day living in my town here in the Sahara, and having read some of it every single day since then until I read the last chapter of the Book of Revelation on August 29 this year, I thought of how I had read the Book of Exodus. Then I immediately began to think more of this association, guided, in part, by Bob Marley's treatment of that book in his song of the same name. In that song, Bob Marley sings, "Exodus: Movement of the People." The Book of Exodus describes the exodus, or movement, of the Jewish people out of slavery in Egypt. I thought of the similarity of their leaving Egypt, and my having left the U.S. I also thought of how they left Egypt and went into the desert, and how I left the U.S., and came into the Sahara Desert. Of course, my inquiry did not end there.

I thought of how God delivered them out of slavery and out of the desert. And I thought of how I have trusted in God, how he has safely delivered me thus far, and how I know that He will continue to safely deliver me. And in continuing my inquiry further, I thought of how I am on a journey of faith, just as the Jewish people were, when God delivered them out of Egypt. I took a leap in starting a new life, just as the Jewish people took a leap and started a new life when they left Egypt. However, to state it merely so, and not explain it further, would be incomplete, since it was a leap of faith which I took. As the Jewish people had faith in God when He delivered them out of Egypt, so I had faith in God when I took the leap of faith to enter the Peace Corps.

And as I've previously noted, God has provided for me. For that, I have been extremely grateful. For that, I thank God.

But what if tragedy struck? What if dire, calamitous circumstances, on a scale which I have never before experienced, arose in my life? Unfortunately, in such circumstances, some people lose their faith. Or, if they are not already believers, they justify their disbelief by asking how God could allow such misfortune to occur. However, what it seems that they fail to realize, is that we gain strength through adversity. It is exactly when times are hardest, and test us most, that we have the best, most promising, most valuable opportunities to grow. In his book "The Language of God: A Scientist Presents Evidence For Belief," Francis Collins asks, "Have you learned more about yourself when things were going well, or when you were faced with challenges, frustrations and suffering?"

It was in this vein that I have tried to learn from the unexpected and tragic deaths of loved ones. My friend Liz died nearly eight years ago, when she had been married less than a couple of years, and when she was five months pregnant. As if that didn't make her passing tragic enough, she was an extremely caring and giving person. A couple of decades ago, before I met her, she was a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) in Niger. Later in her life, she and I worked together at both of the jobs I held just before I joined the Peace Corps. She was my mentor, and my friend. I was shaken up by her death. I began to ask myself more and more how I was spending my life, to evaluate more often my life choices. Thus, in this vein, I applied to the Peace Corps.

As my friend Maral said at Liz's memorial service years ago, "She's only dead if we let her die," meaning that we must not forget her. Meaning that because I admired her so much, I choose for her to live on, by trying to emulate her in her generosity and kindness. Thus I found it immensely appropriate that it was on her birthday last year that I boarded a plane to fly here to Morocco to enter the Peace Corps. And thus, as I am writing this blog entry on the one year anniversary of my arrival here in Morocco, I am conscious of, and grateful for, and choose now to honor, her service as a PCV, her kindness and generosity as a human being, and her guidance of me.

Since Liz played such an important role in my life, I have been conscious each year of her birthday and the date on which she died. Consequently, at some point, I thought about exactly how old she was when she died. Very soon after I thought about exactly how old she was when she died, it occurred to me when I was going to be that exact age. On June 16 this year, which was the day when I became exactly as old as she was when she died, I thought a lot about her that day. And I realized that none of us should expect to live for any particular amount of time. I was yet again reminded of my own mortality. I was again spurred to evaluate how I am living my life.

Since I always try to take this approach in my life, I appreciated it when, in the last few days, I just read a particular passage in Jon Krakauer's book "Into The Wild." In that book, Krakauer explores the life of a young man named Chris McCandless, struck by a severe case of wanderlust, uninhibited by society's expectations about how he should live his life. In his book, Krakauer includes a letter from McCandless to a friend, in which McCandless urges his elderly friend:

I'd like to repeat the advice I gave you before, in that I think you really should make a radical change in your lifestyle and begin to boldly do things which you may previously never have thought of doing, or been too hesitant to attempt. So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future.

Some of you may have read "Into The Wild"; others might not have read it. For those of you who have read it, please keep in mind that I am quoting McCandless because, when he was pondering how he wanted to live his life, he was brave enough to think outside of the confines of societal expectations. Tragically, he also was careless, and did not sufficiently prepare for his adventures. However, one can define one's own life, which can be contrary to societal expectations, and also plan properly to avoid unnecessary danger. So, please know that I am not quoting him for the purpose of endorsing a reckless, imprudently unsafe lifestyle; rather, I am quoting him for his uncommon ability to boldly define his own life. I am quoting him for the purpose of illustrating that anyone can bravely choose to define the parameters of their own life, perhaps unconventionally so, in order to live a more generous, loving, kind and compassionate life than a life which society generally encourages people to lead.

And in the context of my life experiences, which has included unexpectedly losing loved ones, I choose not to wait to make adjustments to my life, when those adjustments occur to me. I remember that a few years ago, I went with a friend of mine named Liz (not the Liz I mentioned above, but rather, another friend named Liz) to a concert in the splendidly art deco Paramount Theatre in Oakland, California. The main performer of the evening, Madeleine Peyroux, at one point, in between musical numbers, while commenting on a song which she and her fellow musicians were about to perform, advised us in the audience, "Don't wait too long."

When I recalled this advice which we received from Madeleine Peyroux that evening years ago, I thought how appropriate it was that Vienna Teng was the opening performer that evening. Vienna Teng left her comfortable job in Silicon Valley to pursue her passion of being a singer-songwriter. In that sense of making a bold change in her life to pursue her passion and develop her talent, she was one of the people who implicitly supported me, and inspired me, to decide to quit my job and enter the Peace Corps.

So, I try to live my life now. I ask myself what I want to do before I die. Which includes thinking about my values, and trying to live according to my values, conscious of my own mortality, conscious of how I don't know how much time I have. Conscious of how, in Mark 13:33-36, Jesus said:

Be alert!
You do not know when that time will come.
It’s like a man going away:
He leaves his house and puts his servants in charge,
each with their assigned task,
and tells the one at the door to keep watch.

Therefore keep watch
because you do not know
when the owner of the house will come back—
whether in the evening,
or at midnight,
or when the rooster crows,
or at dawn.

If he comes suddenly, do not let him find you sleeping.

A Breeze Is Not A Breeze Is Not A Breeze

At the beginning of this week, I was walking with a couple of other PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) in a town near Marrakech. It was quite hot. After a short walk, we reached a bus stop, where we escaped the heat as we waited under the shade of a tree for a Marrakech city bus to take us back into Marrakech.

After not too long, perhaps 15 minutes, the bus pulled up and we boarded the bus. As the bus got moving, a breeze started to blow through the windows of the bus. It wasn't a refreshing breeze, however, because the air blowing on us was hot.

The next day, I was in El Jadida, a city on the coast. It was not hot there. In fact, that night, when I was asleep, a breeze was blowing, through the windows of the room in which I was sleeping, which was so chilly that I was uncomfortably cold.

Two places. Same country. Same time of year. Not the same breeze.